CHAPTER VII
Vronsky and Anna had been traveling together in Europe for three months. They had visited Venice, Rome, Naples; and now they were just arrived at a small Italian city, where they intended to make a considerable stay.
At the hotel the head butler, a regular Adonis of a man, who wore his thick pomaded hair parted behind from the neck, and a dress-coat with a wide expanse of white shirt-front and watch-charms over his rotund belly, was standing with his hands thrust into his pockets, scornfully blinking his eyes, and giving curt answers to a gentleman who had entered the hotel. Hearing steps on the other side of the entrance, the head butler turned around, and, seeing the Russian count, who rented his most expensive apartments, he respectfully drew his hands out of his pockets, and, with a low bow, informed the count that a messenger had come to say that the palazzo was at his service. The agent was ready to sign the agreement.
"Ah! I am very glad," said Vronsky. "Is madame at home?"
"She has been out, but she has returned," replied the butler.
Vronsky took off his wide-brimmed soft hat, and wiped his heated forehead with his handkerchief, and smoothed his hair, which was so arranged as to hide his bald spot. Then, casting a hasty glance at the stranger, who had stopped, and was looking at him earnestly, he started to go.
"This gentleman is a Russian, and was inquiring for you," said the head butler.
With a mingled feeling of vexation because he never could get away from acquaintances, and of pleasure at the idea of any distraction from his monotonous existence, Vronsky once more looked at the gentleman, who had started to go and then stopped, and at one and the same time their eyes met.
